NAIROBI

The spiky morning chill cut through my jawline making my teeth grind like a woodpecker on a bark of a mahogany as I stretched out my joints after eight hours drive. The bus had reached Nairobi. Stepping off the bus, I dived into a nonchalant atmosphere laced with soot from hooting vehicles with revving engines threatening to speed off. Fresh warm sweat repelled my nose as I walked passed luggage carriers who scrambled over passengers. The bus stopped at railways bus station, from there I would turn left and head straight until I saw a building written in old paint, national archives – with archaic bricks and a monument with a fountain oozing from its mouth.

The directive was simple, “get to the national archives and wait for your contact”. My contact would call once they got to the meeting point and if I never picked up within two calls they would leave without me, I was invited to attend a young adult book fair in Nairobi, an opportunity I have been looking forward to. According to google map, the national archives was 15 minutes’ walk from the bus station. 

A guy stopped me in my tracks – Dressed in a white stained robe, tattered Blue denim jeans and sandals, Dark skin and of Muslim Decent. He mumbled as he pulled his fist towards me. Willingly I bumped my fist into his. 

“Do you have some cash you help me with?” 

 “What’s your name?” I asked. 

“My name is Idriss.” 

He smiled broadly and innocently. He slouched back as though the teeth of hunger ripped his stomach walls. 

“So what do you say?” He went on.

“I don’t have any” I concluded as I kept to my tracks.

“Bro, it’s the month of Ramadhan. I’m starving.”

The moment he called me bro, another guy approached on my left, to have me sandwiched. Dressed in brown tarnished safari boots coated with mud, tattered denim jeans, a brown dilapidated jacket and a cap, he looked meaner and tougher. Eyes puffed and smoky red, eyeballs floating like he was not aware of what he saw. He bumped his fist on mine and went straight to the point. 

“BRO, we are not like the other gangs. If we wanted, we could have taken your phone.” 

Sweat formed protuberances on his muscle cheeks as though alien microorganism yearned to pop out. My heart beat raced as though it wanted to catapult itself through my throat, this was it, and this was the moment to act tough, remain calm not to show them that I was new in this place. 

Everything is under control. I whispered to myself.

“Look, how we are surviving” the scary one folded the sleeves of his jacket to his wrist line revealing a syringe stained with clots of blood. 

Suddenly there was an incessant urge of getting rid of the two guys.  

“How much do you guys need?” 

“Any amount that you can give.”

“How about twenty shillings?”

They chuckled. 

“Bro, twenty shillings can’t even take you back home?” Idriss bargained

“Then how much?”

“100 shillings we split 50-50” 

The syringe coated with stains of blood flashed through my mind. I have heard the syringe being used in robbery. Images of it penetrating my neck played out in my mind. What if I gave them nothing only for them to stab me?

I felt the prying eyes of the crowd sizing me. They must have been whispering.

“This one is a new one in town. He is about to get corned.”

I had to give them the money and set them loose. Reaching into my billfolds, I realized I had no 100 note.

“Does any one of you have loose change?”

“How much do you want?”

“I have 200. You guys give me 100 shillings, and I give you the 200.”

Immediately the words came out, I knew there was no way I was getting the change back.

The scary guy had some coins and bundle of notes in his pocket. I reached to the 100 shillings but he took back his hand, as he stretched out his to take my 200. 

“We can’t get off with your money.” He said.

“Then give me the 100, then I give you the 200.”

“No. you give me the 200.”

I took the money inside my pockets, when Idriss interjected. 

“How about he gives me the 100 to hold. Then as soon as you give him the 200, I will give you the 100.” 

We did as planned except I never got the end of the bargain, as I watched them leave, the scary guy turned back and grabbed my phone and begun racing off. Ashamed of looking silly and naïve to have had a conversation with them, screaming was no option, and thinking that the phone was the only means of getting in touch with my contact, prompted me to race after them. 

 “Idriss.” I called out as though we were acquaintances to avoid arousing any suspicion from pedestrians.

He turned around, stared at me as though I had mistaken him with someone else, ignoring me then walked away in a hurry.

“Give me back my phone”

He stopped momentarily turning around to block my view as his counterpart was getting lost in a crowded place that seemed more of a market with shopping stalls on the sides leaving a narrow pathway that engulfed his head. A luggage carrier bumped into us, pushing us to the sides of the narrow pathway.

“Get out of the way. This is no place for vacation.” The trader cursed

Idriss chuckled in laughter, the kind that revealed hidden pain inside the crevices of his eyes. He walked on. I followed. Jumping over stagnant muddy water as I try to keep up with he who didn’t appreciate my efforts and acted as though I did not exist. He stopped, turned back and looked surprised to see me behind him.

“You will get yourself into trouble. This is no place for you.”

“I just want my phone back. You can keep the change.”

“You are crazy. This is Nairobi. Get used to it.”

“bro. I trusted you with my money.”

He smiled slyly. Then begun walking. The market chaotic noise faded away indistinctly as we entered a new world. The stalls were no more, but a clear field of heaps of waste lied everywhere, a dog gnawed his snout inside polythene bags and charred papers burnt slowly emitting black fumes of smoke rising to the atmosphere to blend with the stench of broken sewer lines. Napier grass erected from Swampy bushes at the far edges of the dumpsite. Ahead I saw the scary guy talking to three guys seated around a bonfire.

“What’s your friend’s name?” I asked

“Victor” said Idriss in a harmless tone.

Victor disappeared into an abandon old shanty stall covered with empty plastic bottles.

As we approached, the three guys got on their feet, blocking the entrance. Clearly I was in the wrong pace.

“It’s okay guys. He is mine.”

They let us through, even though I did not what he is mine meant. I just wanted my phone, and I didn’t for a second think that being violent with them would give me the desired outcome.

Inside, victor had removed the contents of his pockets and laid them on the floor, amongst them, my phone was not. Two young boys knelt down counting the cash. Idriss made his way and sat on a large Brick in the middle of the room. I sat directly opposite him leaving him to his show.

“Where is Nga’ng’a?” he asked.

“He is running late.” One of the boys responded.

The atmosphere was stuffy, hot and humid. 

“How much did you guys get?”

“They did well today. They are learning the ropes.”

“I asked how much?” Idriss’s voice changed from a composed one into an authoritative gang leader like one.

The boys hurried with their counting. 

“Victor did you get the stuff?”

“Yes I did” victor removed a wrapped black paper from his jacket, unwrapping it to reveal a needle full of brown golden liquid. My phone rung. 

“Can I have my phone, I have to pick that call” 

Victor removed the phone from his socks, then placed it on the ground, and let it ring. He then took a piece of cloth, wrapped it around his arms tightly revealing his veins. Then gave himself a shot of the drug. He exhaled deeply in pleasure as his eyes shut momentarily. He dropped the syringe on the floor. Idriss picked it up, and repeated the same procedure. 

“If you want your phone back, you must use this” 

At that time it struck me that within our short encounter Idriss never cared what my name was. 

“I want to know your story.” I cajoled

“My story?” he chuckled satirically. “Everyone here has a story, it’s not like the world even cares. What are you doing here anyway, a cool kid like you?”

“My phone is the only reason why I’m here.”

 “Ooh” he exclaims as though surprised, positioning the needle on his arm. “I am a refugee from Somali.” He says proudly. 

Outside, chattering of men got louder. Three guys entered the shanty. One gigantic misshaped guy with mature ancient scars across his face that formed the letter W stopped beside me, the other two remained behind. He glanced at Idriss then at me, then in one swift motion grabbed me by my collar pushing me against the wall. The two boys who were counting cash found their way out.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded.

I struggled to fight off his arms but the more I fought the harder he tightened his grip. Releasing one hand he slapped my cheeks with the other, sending my phone toppling on the ground. Idriss Placed the syringe on the floor then rose to his feet.

“He is a friend. He is with me.” 

“He does not belong here”

He breathed ghastly, thin sweat trickled from his nose. I felt the beat of my vein on his grip, I was choking on my own breath. My legs effortlessly floated off the ground. 

“Nga’ng’a, you will kill him.”

Idriss jumped across him as they rolled down leaving me coughing in spasms. Nga’ng’a’ regained his balance and threw a punch at Idriss. 

“These cool kids might be snitches. This is Nairobi.” Retorted Nga’ng’a

Idriss punched him back. The other two guys came to the rescue, holding Idriss, forcing him to his knees. 

“Get out of here! Before kill you” Nga’ng’a hurled wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

I picked up my phone. Victor had fallen asleep. Nga’ng’a grabbed a metal stick brazing it against the floor making sure that Idriss heard the screech. 

“I have always told you that I’m the one who makes the rules.”

“Nga’ng’a please don’t.” Idriss begged. “please Nga’ng’a’ it’s not what it is”

For a moment there was silence. Then came a thud followed by painful groans.

“Nga’ng’a please, stop.” Went on Idriss. 

I tried looking back inside only for my eyes to meet head on with flaming, horrendous eyes of Nga’ng’a. Idriss breathed blood on his face. My phone rang again. Nga’ng’a begun walking towards me. I retracted my steps, trying to keep calm. My contact was calling. 

“Hello” I received the call.

“Hello, where are you?”

I hesitated.

“Give me 10 minutes, I’m on my way.”

Leaving behind an image of a guy drawling on blood, struggling to get to his feet, as he reached for the needle to numb his pain and drift to sleep – Just as his friend did earlier - I was lost, and even when the pathways were not clear, I had already made contact, and he was going to wait till I showed up. The only thing I had to do was to find my way out of the dungeon, which took me thirty minutes, and five more calls from my contact who came to pick me in an unknown place.